But when the influence of the spell is over, immediately they sink down as much below the level of ordinary mortals, as they were before raised above it. For a delightful exhilaration of body and mind, they now experience a sad reverse, in which they find much more pleasing music in the prudent advice of the apothecary, than in all the Odes of Anacreon. The cry is not then,
Let us drain the nectar’d bowl,
Let us raise the song of soul—&c.
But,
Let us drain the saline dose,
Let’s expel these humours gross.
Now, though poets have favoured us with many a canto on the raptures inspired by flowing bowls and sparkling goblets, they have rarely condescended to give us one line, if it were only by way of note, on the “state of the stomach” on the morning after one of those “nights and suppers of the gods.” Such a detail indeed was never intended for the divine art of poesy. It is a job not at all calculated for the lover of agreeable fiction, and hence the world hears little on the subject. Those after-reckonings are nevertheless serious, though unpalatable things. Pleasure here acts much like a tavern host, who remembers most accurately all the good things he provides, though his guests are both apt and willing to forget them. Every item is carefully put down, and must be paid for. I shall only say, that fortunate is he who takes warning in time. I might moralise on this theme in good set phrase, but the ground has been so well and so frequently beaten by others, that I forbear. With respect to such articles as opium and spirits, the “spirit of the age,” as I have already intimated, runs quite in an opposite direction to that of indulgence; and it is wisely considered that as those who can be temperate in the use of such ticklish commodities must owe a great deal to a happy temperament of constitution, and be few in number, whilst the greater part of mankind are not so felicitously moulded, the rule of teetotalism, viz., entire abstinence, is on the whole the safest and best. But there is one article in our pharmacopœia of stimulants, upon which there seems to be some difference of opinion, and with regard to which I should wish to record my humble opinion. I allude to the nicotian leaf-tobacco.
Now, I regret to say that a long and attentive study of the subject compels me to pronounce an unfavourable sentence on this article. Whatever value it may possess as a medicine—and that, in the present state of our knowledge, is not much—I must say that, as an instrument of luxury in ordinary use, it is unwholesome and injurious. To the physician it may be satisfactory to ascertain in what way, precisely, the injurious effect is produced; but it may suffice others to learn from experience and observation what is the actual result. It is obvious that tobacco causes an excitement of the nervous system, and thus disturbs the course of nature; but nature never is, and never can be, disturbed with impunity. To apply a stimulus to the system for which there is no natural demand, is to cause a waste of nervous energy, of which nature has need for her own legitimate purposes, and therefore to inflict an injury upon her, greater or less according to the amount of that uncalled for expenditure. To keep such an unnatural stimulus in constant action, is tantamount to the creation of a constitutional derangement of the functions, or the introduction of an actual disease into the body; and nobody will pretend to say that this is not injurious. To my simple apprehension, it is anti-hygeian practice with a vengeance. I am no physician, but I believe this to be the true theory of our subject, regarded in a physiological point of view, and it is decisive against the nicotian habit, however small the quantity of the article used may be. People are rather indisposed to believe that an “agreeable” sensation can be an “unwholesome” one; but unfortunately for poor humanity, and the popularity of us sages, nothing in nature is more certain than the possibility of such a conjuncture. It is not only certain, but, alas, commonly known by experience, that an agreeable thing may be unwholesome, and a pleasant sensation anything at all but a symptom of healthful action.
Again, people are apt to suppose that no injury is done to their health, because they are not sensible of the wound at the moment; but this also is a notion which we must class among vulgar errors. It is a matter of demonstration, not merely of hypothesis, that we may sustain most grievous injury of which we are not instantly sensible; nay, that so long a time may elapse after the impression has been imparted, that we become unable to trace the effect to its cause; and yet the relation of cause and effect stands sure, however ignorant or unconscious we may be of it. As an illustration of this position, I shall mention a case which came under my own observation. I was once acquainted with a gentleman, who at eighty years of age was what would be called a stout, healthy old fellow. He was certainly of a most robust constitution, and had never addicted himself to any habit “calculated to shorten life,” as they say at the Insurance Offices, saving and excepting that of taking snuff. Well, it has been said to me, “See how your anti-nicotian theory is set at defiance by this hearty old fellow. If tobacco be a slow poison, it must be, as was said of tea, very slow indeed, or how should we have such an exemplary octogenarian as this, ‘o’er all its ills victorious?’ He has been taking snuff all his life, and yet, you perceive, is nothing the worse for it.” Now, I did not perceive any such thing, but was well aware that the contrary was the case. I was of opinion, and am now fully convinced of the fact, that he suffered extremely, nay, intensely, from the habit, without himself or others being at all aware of it. I do not speak of a nose and face perpetually begrimed with snuff—of a waistcoat and inexpressibles embrowned and powdered all over with it—of the expenditure of pocket-handkerchiefs, and waste of time in nose-blowing—everlasting sneezing and coughing, &c.: such matters are mere trifles in the estimate of your professed snuff-takers; but I do speak of an habitual depression of spirits, and frequently an access of the most miserable melancholy, to which this gentleman was subject, and which I attribute to his inveterate habit of snuff-taking, and to no other cause. He would complain bitterly of his wretchedness on those occasions, and ascribe it to the skyey influences—the humidity of our climate, the fogs, and I know not what besides; but it was nothing but “the snuff.” Such intelligence would have doubtless been very unwelcome; for this very snuff—this actual fons et origo malorum, ay, “more snuff”—was his most favourite remedy and consolation under these distressing visitations! So much for our ignorance of causes.
The late Doctor Adam Clarke was a great enemy to the tobacco leaf, and published a strong paper in condemnation of it. He takes high ground upon the subject.